Mutually Beneficial
by HalfBloodDeviant
Summary: Shane's got Daryl figured out. He knows exactly what he is and what he wants. But will he take advantage of the situation? Sharyl slash.
1. Choke

_I know what you are._

Daryl used one of his crossbow bolts to dig at the ground next to his tent. Merle had gone with the Chinese kid and some of the newcomers to Atlanta for food or shit tickets or whatever the hell they needed. Mr. Big Shot Police Officer had insisted Daryl stay there to protect the camp. His crossbow was "quieter and wouldn't draw the walkers in." What the fuck ever. He pushed the arrow into the dirt, tunneling into the ground with it.

Mr. Big Shot Police Officer stood over by the RV talking with Dale, his eyes darting over to the woods. Daryl wasn't an idiot. He knew exactly who had gone into those woods two shakes ago. He knew because he'd thought she was a damn idiot for going out there alone. Every time she'd done it.

He got up and skulked his way over to the RV, waiting for the end of the conversation. As soon as Dale was back inside, Shane turned his feet toward the woods. He barely gave Daryl a glance.

"Where the hell you goin?" Daryl asked.

"Don't reckon that's any of your business, Dixon, " Shane said, holding himself a little taller. His stance said, _Back off._ Daryl didn't wanna.

"So I 'protect the camp' while you go bang your little bitch in the woods?"

Shane cocked his head, face twitching, and then he slammed Daryl against the RV by his throat, nostrils flaring. Daryl gripped his hand with both his own.

"I know what you are," he said, low and quiet, his lips almost brushing Daryl's ear. "Unless you want me to share it with your brother, best keep your mouth shut about Lori Grimes."

"You don't know shit," Daryl said.

"Sure I don't, _faggot_."

Daryl tried to throw a punch as soon as the word was out and found himself flipped around, arm twisted behind his back. Shane used his body weight to pin him against the RV. Daryl huffed, wriggling beneath him.

"Fuckin asshole," Daryl spat. "Let me go and shove what you think you know up your ass."

Shane discreetly snaked a hand around him and grabbed his junk. Daryl's body betrayed him almost immediately. It didn't matter that he was angry. He'd been checking Shane out since he met him and no amount of heat in his blood could shrink Shane's chest muscles or make his back stop flexing the way it did when his sweat molded his shirts against his skin. His cock grew hard in Shane's hand.

"Looks like only one of us wants something shoved up his ass, Dixon."

"Screw you."

"Yeah. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Shane asked, letting him go with a rough shove. "Watch the damn camp and maybe I will."

Daryl turned and watched him disappear into the treeline.

* * *

><p>The last words haunted him until Shane ambled out of the woods sometime later. Lori followed soon after. They were simultaneously too close together and too far apart to be anything less than obvious. Hell, even the kid had probably figured it out by now.<p>

He expected nothing more to come of it, an idle threat made in an attempt to keep him in line. But Shane walked right up to where he sat outside his tent, still playing in the dirt. Daryl stared up at him.

"No problems?" Shane asked.

Daryl sniffed, crinkling up his face. He spit on the ground right next to Shane's boots.

"No."

"You know you're a shithead, right?" Shane asked. "Kind of dude I would've locked up for something stupid. Probably something your brother got you into."

"Go ahead and cuff me then, asshole," Daryl said, tossing the bolt he'd been playing with down beside his bow. "Since you know every damn thing about me."

"Hey, look," Shane started, "you're a shithead, but you ain't the main problem in the Dixon family. And there are easier ways to handle guys like you. Better ways."

"What? Name callin'?"

Shane shook his head and huffed out a little laugh. He looked side-to-side and smoothed his hair back.

"Listen, man, I had your dick in my hand and straight-up told you I might fuck you. Really think I meant that shit?"

"What makes you think I want to fuck _you_?"

Shane cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow.

"Well aside from the obvious hard-on you got after not even full two seconds with my hand on your Willie Nelson, how about the fact that you watch me every chance you get?"

"I watch everyone," Daryl said, glancing up at him and back down at his feet.

"Yeah, you're right. I'll give you that. But not exactly the same way you do me, huh?" Shane asked. "You ain't the only one who pays attention to people, Dixon."

"Alright, _Walsh,_" Daryl said. Shane cracked a smile and crouched down to look Daryl dead in the eyes, all lust and intensity.

"I can call you Daryl if you want."

Daryl tried really, really hard not to shiver, but a little chill cracked up his spine, and like lightning, it refused to be contained. He twitched. Shane smirked and leaned over to look around him at the inside of the tent he shared with Merle.

"It's gettin' late. If they ain't back soon, they'll hole up in Atlanta til morning."

Daryl didn't want to point out the other very possible possibility. _Or they're dead._

"You got a point?" Daryl asked.

"Either way, you ain't alone in this tent tonight." Shane stood up to leave.

"What you want with me anyway?"

"See any other options around here for either one of us?" Shane asked.

"Think you just had your other option." Daryl glanced at the woods.

"Lori, she's..." Shane shook his head.

"Warm?" Daryl asked. Shane looked a little pained, shook his head again. It was the first time Daryl had seen him remotely vulnerable. He masked it quickly.

"Doesn't matter." Shane shifted on his feet. "What matters is we've both got something the other wants. I think this world's gonna be a lot of give and take until this is over with. People are gonna have to take advantage of mutually beneficial situations."

"And you want the mutual benefit of your dick up my ass?" Even as he spat out the words with as much vitriol as he could muster, Daryl could feel the blood in his body starting to re-route.

"Be seeing you," Shane said, "_Daryl._" 

* * *

><p>There had been several times in his life when Daryl hoped his brother wouldn't come back. Once was right after Merle had run away for the first time. His dad had sat by the door for a week in a drunken stupor with his rifle in his hand. The next was after Merle had gotten arrested for dealing meth for one of his douchebag friends. It had been front-page news in their little Georgia town. His brother's mugshot was one of three big ones staring right in your face. His dad had whipped Daryl bloody for simply existing after that. He would have killed Merle.<p>

The rest of the time he'd spent praying for Merle's return. It was easier with two of them. It was easier when they could share the burden of his asshole dad. And it was easier after his dad died to take care of the house and his mother if he had help.

Tonight was the first night since his dad drank himself to death that he'd hoped his brother wouldn't come back. Just one night. That was all he needed.

The more he thought about Shane, the more he fidgeted on his pallet. He'd been hard on and off since sundown. Now was definitely an on moment. He'd thought about the other man like this more times than he'd probably admit even after it happened. He'd thought about it a lot with other guys before him.

His brother had tried to get him to fuck drugged-out girls at parties so many times, he couldn't count them all, but even when they were pretty ones who hadn't been ravaged by whatever they were on yet, they still did nothing for him. He'd let one girl into his life when he was seventeen. They'd had a whole 60 seconds of sex on the creaky sofa in her parent's trailer one afternoon after school, and he'd known it wasn't for him.

He checked the shitty watch he'd stolen off some walker after he 'd put the thing out of its misery. It was nearly 1 a.m. Definitely late enough to give up on the group coming back today. He bounced his foot, wiggled his toe through the hole in his sock. Maybe Shane had realized he was a pointless waste of space like everyone else in his life had. Deep down, he didn't even think Merle really gave two shits about him.

"Dixon." It was a low whisper right outside the tent, but he knew the voice. Shit. This was happening. Oh shit. Did he even know how? What if Shane thought he was an idiot? Why in fucking hell did he ever agree to this? Fuck. "You still up in there?"

Daryl wondered if he'd go away if he didn't answer. Shit.

"Yeah."

Shane slid the zipper on the door around slowly and crawled in to the tent, zipping it back behind him to keep out mosquitoes and anything else.

"Sorry. It's a bitch trying to sneak around without being spotted by Andrea on watch. Girl's sharp."

"Mhm," Daryl managed to say, his heart hammering away like a hummingbird's wings. Shane laid down on the pallet next to him and leaned over like he was about to kiss him. Daryl inhaled in ragged little spurts.

"Damn. You that nervous?"

"Ain't nervous."

"Oh buullshiiit," Shane said. "Hell, man, you're shaking."

"Nuh uh," Daryl argued, but his voice trembled even as he said it.

"Daryl, are you... shit." Shane laughed nervously. "You ever done this before?"

Daryl looked up at the ceiling of the tent.

"Kind of." Daryl fidgeted.

"Kind of?"

"Not with..."

"Mhm."

"But..." But he wanted the fantasy. He didn't want Shane treating him like some delicate Easter Lily. He wanted him to rip the petals off. He wanted the heat and Shane's weight on him and Shane's arms holding him down. And Shane's cock in between his lips. At least, he thought he did. He did.

"But?"

"I ain't breakable."

Even in the barely-there light inside the tent, on a night with nothing but a half-moon, Daryl could see the little smile spread across Shane's face.

"That a challenge, Daryl?"

Daryl's heart took off again. Shit. He steeled himself. Shane. Shane's arms. Shane that time you saw him in the creek in nothing but his boxer briefs. Shane.

"You gonna talk all night, sunshine?"

"You redneck son of a bitch," Shane mumbled. And Daryl didn't need to be told he didn't mean it. Shane rolled over on top of him, his weight forcing a little of the air out of Daryl's lungs. It felt so good. So comforting. So wild.

Shane pressed his lips to Daryl's. No, not pressed. Forced. He shoved them against his own, and worked their mouths together until Daryl's lips were burning, his chin a little raw from the stubble on Shane's.

"Jesus," Daryl said, catching his breath.

"Nope." Shane rolled off of him and knelt beside him in the tent, undoing his pants faster than Daryl had ever undone his own jeans in his life. The cop grabbed him by the hair and Daryl scrambled to follow the pull of his hand.

"C'mere," he ordered, and then he shoved Daryl's face onto his cock until he choked on it, gagging around the head. Shane violently fucked his mouth a solid four or five times before finally tugging Daryl's face off and letting him suck in a few gasping breaths.

His eyes were already watering.

"You wanna stop?" Shane asked.

"No."

"Good." And he pulled Daryl's face back to his crotch with both hands, fucking his face as hard as he could without making him puke.

"Dixon. Daryl..."

Daryl was too busy trying to breathe to do much more than raise his eyebrows.

"You've got a fuckable little mouth." And he pulled it to his own and ravaged it with his tongue.

"Jesus," Daryl said, wiping away the water still pooled in the corner of his eyes.

"Still nope." Shane grabbed him by the hair again and used it to drag him around, positioning Daryl on his hands and knees.

Daryl should have been nervous, but Shane had taken every single nerve and filled it with molten lead. He was all heavy heat now, and he needed to follow through. He needed to know he hadn't been hating himself for nothing all these years. Shane ripped his jeans down, spit in his hand and reached around to grip Daryl's cock tightly. Daryl had to clamp down on his groan so fast, it sounded like he was choking.

"Packin' a little heat there, Dillinger?" Shane gave Daryl's cock few little lengthy tugs. Daryl bit into his own wrist and half-whimpered around his flesh.

"Are you g-"

Shane shoved three fingers in Daryl's mouth, so deep he choked on them. His eyes started welling up again. He should have hated it. Should have wanted to put a bolt through Shane's left eyeball, but he wanted him to do it again. And again.

And then Shane took them out and started working one into Daryl's asshole. His head swung around to look over his shoulder.

"What?" Shane asked, still wiggling it into him. Daryl shook his head. "Don't worry, Dixon. It gets better than this."

One, two, three fingers and it definitely did get better. And then there were no fingers at all. Shit. Daryl heard the rustling as Shane repositioned himself. Heard him spit. Felt him pressing against his entrance. Shit. Oh god. And then Shane was slowly working his way inside of him, a little deeper on each slow thrust.

And everything Daryl had been trying to simultaneously accept and deny since he was seventeen clicked violently into place. He pushed himself back on Shane's cock a little.

"Easy," Shane said. "You wanna be able to walk tomorrow."

Daryl's body ached with need. More. More Shane. He squeezed his eyes tight and took a deep breath.

"Fuck easy."

Shane made an amused little hmmph sound behind him.

"Suit yourself." His hands locked onto Daryl's shoulders and used them for leverage, picking up speed with every thrust. "That what you want, motherfucker?"

Daryl choked out an "mhm," afraid anything else would unleash a massive moan that would wake the camp and bring down every dead sumbitch for miles.

Soon, Shane's pelvis was slapping against Daryl's ass. It seemed too loud, but Daryl was too far gone to give a shit. Someone could've unzipped the tent right then and he would've begged Shane not to stop.

Like he could hear his thoughts, Shane slid out.

"No," Daryl shook his head, half-drunk on everything that had happened. "Damn't."

"Stop fucking whining and roll over, you filthy little shit." Shane grabbed both of Daryl's shoulders and practically turned him over on his own. "That's a piece of shit shirt."

"Hey thanks, officer asshole."

Shane grabbed it and tore it open, buttons flying.

"What the _hell_?"

"I've got one you can have. Even has sleeves."

"Fuck you."

"Maybe if you're lucky." Shane fished around in the side pocket of his half-down pants and pulled something out before grabbing both of Daryl's wrists and pinning them above his head. In seconds, they were both zip-tied tightly together. The plastic dug into his wrists. Shane leaned back a little surveying his handiwork—Daryl, shirt open, wrists bound above his head, his eyes asking, begging, pleading for more.

"Gonna stare at me all night?" Daryl asked.

"Keep mouthin' off like that, and I'll have to shut you up."

Daryl couldn't help the way his mouth twitched at the corners.

"Like to see you try."

Shane ripped him up with one hand on his bindings and one hand in his hair. He tangled both hands in the short mop on Daryl's head and forced his cock back between the hunter's lips. The redneck choked on it and then growl-moaned low in his throat. Fuck he liked it. He liked it so much.

Shane held him on it until he felt Daryl struggling back against his hands, and then he held him a second longer before letting go. Daryl gasped in air and sat there, panting for breath, little trails of tears down his cheeks. Shane decided he liked the way they looked and left them there, giving Daryl another rough kiss before shoving him down onto his back and crawling on top of him.

He found his way back inside Daryl like he'd always known it and pushed himself in as far as he could. Daryl responded by wrapping his legs around his hips and squeezing. Shane spit in his face.

"Whore."

The officer raised himself on his arms and used the leverage to pump into Daryl, grunting and nipping at his flesh, and occasionally growling into his mouth. Daryl bit back moans and groans left and right. He prayed he got to do this again, somewhere he could be loud. He tried his best to wrap his arms around Shane, eventually letting them rest on the back of his neck.

"Want those?" Shane asked.

Daryl nodded.

"Manners, motherfucker."

"Please."

From somewhere irrelevant to Daryl, Shane produced a knife, sheathed in leather with a thick black handle. He started to unsheath it and then stopped.

"Damn't. I already fucking said 'please.'" I need to touch you. I need to clutch at those back muscles while you fuck me into the ground. Jesus. Please.

"Not yet," Shane said. "I've just got a thing with your damn mouth." He gripped the sheath tightly and shoved the handle between Daryl's lips. "Go on. Show me what you can do, you filthy little shit." Daryl eyed him, a little frustrated, a little uncertain, and then he fellated the knife handle until Shane finally grabbed the back of his neck and choked him on that too.

"Hands." Daryl held his wrists out and let Shane cut them apart. Shane pushed back in and started fucking him rough and hard almost immediately.

Soon it was nothing but rustling and grunting and Daryl's pained attempts at being quiet. He held Shane tight with both his legs and his arms, feeling every muscle working beneath his hands, using his legs to bring him into every thrust. He pressed his lips against Shane's shoulder and let a single groan escape against the other man's salty skin.

"Give me your hand."

Daryl did, and he was a little surprised when Shane spit a wad of saliva in it. He quirked an eyebrow.

"Don't fucking look at me like that. You know how to touch your own goddamn dick."

Daryl reached down and gripped it, coating it in the warmth from Shane's mouth. He gave it a stroke and his mouth fell open at the combination of... _everything_. He let a little noise, something akin to a whine. And he really shouldn't have been surprised at Shane shoving something else in his mouth, but he was a little when Shane stuffed a big wad of his own blanket in there, a wad so thick it made his jaw hurt.

But Daryl could finally let himself moan, muffled by all the cloth, and he did. Everything felt so good. So much better than anything he'd ever done alone, than any self-loathing shower masturbation he'd hastily cranked out while trying to ignore why. He both regretted not doing it sooner and loved that this was his first. This filthy tent sex in whatever the fucking world had become.

He offered his hand to Shane again for more spit and then worked at his cock while the other man thrust into him. Everything was too much. Too much. He...

He looked at Shane with wide-eyes he could barely keep from rolling back in his skull. He tried to convey the message. He thought he might have. He didn't know. A few more tugs, a few more rough thrusts from Shane and he was done. The fabric muffled his deep groan while he came, most of it on his own chest. He pulled the fabric out of his mouth. Shane ran his hand through the mess and made him suck it off his fingers and then he pulled out.

"Did you?" Daryl asked, confused.

"Sit up," he said. Daryl did. "Might wanna close those pretty blue eyes."

Daryl did. He waited, peeked once to see Shane furiously rubbing his own cock, and then he shut them again when he realized what was happening. Shane finally growled low and quiet in his throat and then Daryl could feel the warmth landing on the skin of his face. Cheeks, nose, lips. He wanted to run his tongue across them. How different did Shane taste?

"Don't move," Shane said. And then he leaned forward and kissed him again. Daryl could taste the cum between their lips and on Shane's tongue .

He wiped the rest on his ruined shirt. He'd have to pick the buttons up first thing in the morning and go over the tent to make sure there was no evidence. Hell, even if Merle thought it was all his own mess, he'd never hear the end of it. Things were quiet a minute while they both caught their breath, the night broken only by the sounds of insects buzzing. Shane broke it first.

"I need to get back."

"To Lori?"

Shane used the excuse of getting dressed to avert his eyes.

"It's hard to explain, man."

"Don't owe me shit 'cept more of that." Daryl handed him the knife after wiping some leftover drool on the blanket beside him.

Shane nodded.

"Don't think that'll be a problem." He ran his thumb over Daryl's bottom lip and gripped his chin to give him one last quick little kiss. "Not as long as you've got that damn smartass mouth on you."

Daryl fidgeted a little. Shane took the cue.

"Get some sleep. You've got watch at noon. I'll bring you that shirt before then."

Daryl nodded and watched Shane unzip the tent and disappear before sealing him back inside. He heard the rustle of his boots on the grass near his tent, and then he heard nothing save his own breathing. His heartbeat finally started to slow down.

He thought for a minute about how different the world was now. So many dead. So many dying. Scraping by to survive. Never knowing if you'd have enough food. Bathing in cold streams if you bathed at all. Not even any cable TV to drown out all the awful bullshit.

But then he thought about that other thing. Mutually beneficial situations. Give and take. Maybe this world was really just like the old one. Maybe you had to give the good you could give and take what good you could get when you got it. And damned if he wasn't through not taking.


	2. Challenge

Lori ran her hand down Shane's muscular chest, barely covered by a thin white tank. She swirled her finger in a wide arc around one of his nipples and leaned over, ready to kiss him.

"Lori." Both syllables dripped with warning, an unspoken "stop."

"Shane, it's been over a week," she whispered. "If you're worried about Carl, you already know he won't wake up." It was true. They had already done it in the tent dozens of times, and he hadn't so much as stirred.

"Ain't in the mood," he said, shifting away from her.

"Well at least tell me what the hell I did." She let her hand drop onto her stomach.

"Christ, woman, it ain't always about you." Shane sat up and reached for his pants, ready to slip them on and go skulk around the camp. He told himself he needed fresh air. But he knew what he wanted, what he really wanted, was something a little less wholesome.

"Where are you going?" she asked. "It's the middle of the night."

"Thought I'd hit up the bar. Watch a little football," he said, already tugging his button-up on, not bothering to do up the buttons. If he had his way, the shirt wouldn't be on long.

"Great time to make jokes, Shane," she said, watching him unzip the tent. "When you get ready to talk about what's really wrong, I'll be right here." But Shane was already outside, zipping the tent shut behind him and stepping into his shoes.

* * *

><p>Everyone had their own styles when it came to watch. Most people sat up on top of the RV with the binoculars firmly in hand. Some were too scared to ever lower them. Some checked at intervals, whether calculated or guestimated. Daryl did neither. He skulked around every inch of the camp, using every hunter's instinct he had to keep them all safe. He walked the perimeter and down by the quarry. He walked around the RV and through the tent city. He scanned every dark corner and listened intently to every single cracking twig, and then he did it all over again until his shift was over.<p>

This, combined with how quiet he was on his feet, meant that Daryl knew more about most of the people at camp than he sometimes needed or wanted to know. He knew all about Ed and Carol, had half a mind some nights to just open up the tent and put that fucker out of his misery. He knew Glenn had a little solo-action thing going for some chick named Zelda, whatever the fuck kinda name that was. And he knew Shane and Lori fought. A lot. A lot more than he would've thought before he started doing night watches.

When he heard Shane getting ready to leave the tent, he had to decide quick whether or not he wanted to be there when he did.

He managed to make it look like he'd just walked up when Shane finished tying his boots.

He started to open his mouth. Some part of him still wanted to provoke the other man, even after they'd...

But Shane stuck a finger to his lips and shook his head. Daryl shrugged and stepped around him. After all, he had a job to continue and he'd already taken a break to listen to the argument with Lori. Shane followed quietly behind him until they were away from the tents.

"Whatsamatter, officer? Couldn't sleep?" Daryl taunted halfheartedly. Something about finally fucking Shane had broken a lot of the tension between them. Something about finally letting himself get down and dirty with a nice hard cock had killed a little of his constant anger too. Maybe he'd just needed to be fucked one good all along.

"So do you actually not know, or you just pretending you don't know?" Shane asked.

"Hm?" Daryl skirted the edge of the woods with Shane at his heels.

"Why I'm out here?"

"Pretty obvious, ain't it?" Daryl asked. "You wanted seconds."

Shane couldn't exactly disagree.

Deep in the woods, a twig cracked. Daryl stopped, instinctively putting his hand on Shane's chest to signal him to be still. He trained his beady blue eyes on the darkness and listened.

"Walker?" Shane whispered.

Daryl screwed up his face and made a frustrated little hand gesture to tell Shane to shut the hell up. It was quiet for a minute or two more while he listened to the noises from within the trees.

"Deer," Daryl finally said. "Pretty good size one by the sound of it. If we had a decent moon tonight, I'd try to go in for it."

"Pity. I could go for something besides beans."

Daryl shrugged and started walking again, carefully and quietly observing everything around them.

"Why don't you sit on the RV like everyone else?" Shane finally asked after they'd completed one time around on Daryl's chosen path.

"Why don't you go fuck yourself?"

"Why would I when I know you're so willing to do it for me?"

Daryl didn't even turn around. He walked on in silence for a bit.

"What time is it, Walsh?"

"Nearly 1," he said, squinting at the faintly glowing hands of his watch.

"Merle's got watch after me," Daryl started, "which means he'll firmly plant his ass on top of that RV until he smells breakfast."

"Mhm..."

"Ain't gonna fuckin' spell it out for you. You know damn well what I'm tryin' to say."

Shane didn't say anything. Truth be told, he'd been half-hard for Daryl since before he even climbed out of his tent. He knew exactly what he was trying to say, and now he was fighting to keep the "half" from turning into a whole.

"That means leave me the hell alone until then, by the way." Daryl gave him a playful little shove. "Now git."

"Hey, you listen now," Shane said, smile evident in his voice. He grabbed Daryl by the hair and pulled him close, close enough to feel his breath ghosting across his skin. "I give the orders around here. Not you."

Daryl let out a ragged little sigh at being manhandled and it was all Shane could do not to fuck him into the ground right there next to woods.

"You fuckin' like that, huh?" Shane asked, already straining against his briefs. It was going to be torture until Merle's shift started. One hour and some change. He couldn't go lay down. Lori would wake up, want to talk. Couldn't just fuck himself off either. Not knowing Daryl's tight little hole was waiting for him.

Daryl didn't answer.

"I asked you a question, Dixon," Shane said, spinning Daryl and pulling him against him so he could grind against his denimed ass.

"And I told you to git."

"Fine," Shane said, reaching down to rub Daryl through his jeans while he spoke. "But you're gonna pay for it later." He shoved the redneck away and skulked off to find a way to pass the time.

* * *

><p>Passing the time ended up consisting of Shane following Daryl around and seeing just how close he could get before Daryl turned around and glared at him. He'd tried sitting by the fire, barely even embers at this point. He'd tried whittling away at some sticks just because. Hell, he'd even thumbed through some old magazine someone had left in a chair, not that he could see much. The moon had waned to a small white sliver. He vaguely recalled it being about half-full when he'd fucked Daryl for the first and, so far, last time. No wonder he was so damn needy.<p>

He'd tried to fuck Lori again in the interim. He really had. But truth be told she was never going to do it for him. She had been a poor substitute for what he really wanted, and Daryl was a far more satisfying fill-in. So submissive. So tight. So wanting.

He groaned and stood up, waited for Daryl to pass, and started his little game. Turned out he couldn't get closer than fifty feet without Daryl slinging his head around. He could barely see him turn. It was so dark in this new world. But he could still tell. Daryl would flip him off, and Shane would make his own obscene gesture, and then he'd start it all over again.

By the time his little watch hands showed five til two, Shane was aching. He knew he must have leaked all in his underwear. Stalking Daryl's footsteps like that. Watching, really really watching, how he moved when he was in that mode. It all did things to him. Daryl could easily pick off everyone in this camp if he ever felt so inclined. Instead he let Shane fuck his throat until tears ran down his face. Damned if that wasn't something special.

Shane made his way to the Dixon tent as quietly as he could. He wasn't as light on his feet as Daryl, but Merle wasn't nearly as highly attuned to his surroundings either. Shane waited behind the tent, a good few feet back.

Something about sneaking around made him feel like a horny teenager again. It was thrilling in the way Lori wasn't. Sure, they'd been sneaking, but just barely, and it was mostly for Carl's benefit. Carl would be upset Lori had given up on Rick. Merle would be an entirely different animal. Violent and dangerous. The idea was just a little bit thrilling.

After a lot of noise from inside, he heard the telltale zip of a tent flap. Merle grunted his way out, swearing under his breath about how much bullshit it was to do this shit in the middle of the damn night, how a man like him needed his goddamn beauty sleep, and then another zip. Shane moved forward slowly, following the sounds of Merle ambling through camp. He was definitely not the trained killer his brother was. Confident Merle was gone, that his back was turned, and that Daryl was probably already seeking his brother out for a changing of the guard, Shane unzipped the Dixon tent and slipped inside.

He knew it wouldn't take Daryl long to get back there. He had to be as horny as he was. A quick check told him he was right about soaking his underwear. There was a little wet circle of pre-cum all around where the tip of his cock rested against them. Question was, did he want Daryl to find him clothed or naked?

He settled on pushing his pants barely down his hips, just enough to free his cock, and then he wrapped his hand loosely around it, touching just enough to relieve the ache. He heard the zipper and mmm'd softly for Daryl's benefit.

"What the hell, Shane?" Daryl hissed, giving his calf a little kick. "You're fucking nuts."

"Shut up and suck me off, Dixon." Shane lazily fondled his balls, smiling a little at the way Daryl licked his lips, already thinking about it even though he was still glaring at him.

"What if he'd forgotten something and come back, idiot?"

Shane wasn't going to admit he had a point. No way, no how.

"I said shut the fuck up and put your pretty little mouth on my dick. You're already in trouble."

Daryl knelt down beside him, reaching to stash the crossbow near the door.

"Ain't you gonna buy me dinner first?"

Shane managed to sit up enough to grab the back of Daryl's neck and pull him onto his erection. For backtalk, he gagged him on it and held him down until he was clawing at his abs. Daryl pulled off, gasping, water already leaking from his eyes.

"I swear if I die choking on your dick after all this, I'm going to haunt your piece of shit ass forever."

"You fucking love it," Shane said. "And why would I want to kill something as pretty as you?"

He sat up and peeled the rest of his clothes off.

"Gonna take that damn shirt off, Daryl?" he asked. "I'd hate to have to rip this one open like the last one. Though you would deserve it for already mutilating the one I gave you."

"I'm gonna leave it on. Ain't up for discussion."

"Oh c'mon. You look so good underneath it." Shane recalled the huge expanse of chest. The shoulders, so broad and wide compared to his tiny waist. Steep collarbones, and the kind of pudgy little tummy he hated to admit he wanted to pepper with kisses just a little bit. "Fuckin beautiful actually."

Daryl leaned down and practically swallowed his cock whole in an attempt to end the conversation.

Shane let his head droop back onto the little makeshift pillow Daryl slept on. It smelled like the woods with the faintest hint of tobacco. Shane sighed a little at the warm wetness surrounding him, at the way Daryl lapped at the head when he came up for air.

Daryl gagged himself again and again without being forced. Shane could feel saliva dripping down the length of his cock. God, the damn redneck was such a fucking whore for it.

"Shirt off," Shane finally said, giving the words a little edge, making it clear they were an order.

"Mmm," Daryl moaned with Shane practically all the way back in his throat. His hips jumped up a little at the vibration, and Daryl choked before doing it again.

"Little shit." It took all Shane had to drag him off his cock by the hair. Fuck how was he so good with his damn mouth when Shane was his first? Boy was a damn natural talent.

Daryl positioned himself on his hands and knees without prompting.

"Nope," Shane said. "Not fuckin you, Dixon."

"What?" Daryl looked over at him. "Why the fuck not?"

"You haven't done what you're told, have you?"

Daryl rolled over onto his back, huffing.

"Said it ain't fuckin' open for discussion, Walsh. You either fuck me like this or get the hell out of my tent." Daryl pulled the blankets over his erection like he suddenly just wanted it to go away.

Shane wanted to grab him by the hair again. He wanted to rip the shirt clean off of him. He wouldn't offer him a new one this time.

But he couldn't. Not with the way Daryl had said it. Not with the little vulnerable way he'd covered himself up. Shane wanted to comfort him. And comforting meant feelings and feelings were dangerous. The last time he'd let himself feel, he'd lost something he couldn't put a value on. A piece of his own soul. Gone forever. He carded a hand through his own hair. Fuck.

"Hey now," he said softly, reaching for Daryl. Daryl turned away.

"I don't get it," Shane said. "Already seen what you look like under there. Fuckin' hot is what."

"Just get out," Daryl said. "Christ. Go beat it or something. Get the fuck away from me."

"Jesus, Daryl," he said. "Crime to fuckin' want to look at you? You're a hot piece of ass. "

"You deaf, asshole? Said I don't want you here no more." Daryl curled in on himself just a little. "Go."

"Oh fuckin' bullshit," Shane said. "How about you tell me what the real problem is?"

"Go fuck Lori."

"I don't fucking want Lori, and I'm pretty damn sure you heard us arguing. You might be sneaky, but you ain't a good liar, Dixon."

Daryl went quiet.

"Silent treatment now?" Shane asked. Daryl didn't answer.

It was Shane's last change to get out without crossing the feelings line. Something told him if he started digging into who Daryl really was, he'd end up thoroughly good and fucked on the emotional front. And could he take another emotional fucking so soon? Did he have time anymore to waste avoiding one?

Shane sighed long and hard and then rolled over, draping his arm over Daryl and squeezing close against him. He tried very, very hard to ignore the fact that his still-bare half-mast cock was pressing against Daryl's still-bare very-tight ass.

Not now, Shane. Not now. Not now.

He forced a little of the blanket between them, hoping the buffer would help keep him civilized. Daryl was completely stiff in his arms, letting him touch him but definitely not enjoying it. Shane couldn't decide if he should let go or squeeze him harder.

"Fucking relax," he said. "Not gonna do anything."

Daryl went limp in his arms. Hardly any better than the other way around. Worse, maybe.

Shane thought a minute on what the hell to do, and then he reached his hand over and stroked Daryl's short, dark blonde hair. The redneck flinched, hard enough to startle him.

"Get your fuckin hands off me." He scooted away, pawing around for his clothes.

Something about it answered Shane's previous question for him. He sat up and grabbed Daryl and pulled him back against him, squeezing him tight.

"Dixon, stop," he said softly. The hunter kept struggling. Shane mumbled, "Daryl," softly, and he went still. "There ya go. Easy. Relax."

Shane could have sworn he heard him whimper once, very quietly. But he wouldn't dare ask or say a word about it. He stroked Daryl's arm because it was the easiest thing to reach in his current position. Daryl let him.

"Shane," Daryl said, like it had taken him a great deal of effort to open his mouth.

"Yeah?"

"Touch me."

Under any other circumstances, Shane would've spent all night punishing him for daring to tell him what to do. But he could hear the desperation there. It wasn't about cumming. It wasn't about orders. Nor was it about domination. It was about how personal and intimate everything was and how much Daryl needed that to stop.

He was going to be a tough shell to crack, and Shane hated that.

Because now Daryl was a challenge. Everything preventing him from getting close was an obstacle. Every glare and every "fuck off" was a battle to be won. And Shane Walsh had never been able to resist a damn challenge.

He wrapped his hand around Daryl's cock, no longer feeling any need for his own fulfillment. Daryl barely even had the remnants of an erection and Shane had to give him a few good strokes to get him hard again.

It didn't take long for Daryl to spill, letting out a tiny moan and catching it with his own hand while Shane pumped him empty.

"Night, Walsh," he said quietly, dismissing him, already pulling on clothes so he could curl up in his blankets and forget.

Shane took his time getting dressed, watched the way Daryl laid there, tense and waiting. He considered his next move carefully while he laced up his boots. What could he do to put a little chink in Daryl's armor?

Shane leaned over and rubbed Daryl's back softly—up, down, up. A simple touch. Quick and over with.

"Night."

Then he left, quietly sneaking back through tent city to the one he shared with Lori.

She was fast asleep with her arms crossed loosely over her chest. Shane stared at her for a long minute, thought about every hurried moment in the woods, ever quiet rendezvous in the tent.

He thought about every time he'd covered her mouth, how she thought he was trying to shush her for privacy or safety, how really he just didn't want to hear her voice. He couldn't close his eyes and pretend he was somewhere else if she made noise.

Then he thought about how Daryl clammed up and wouldn't talk to him. How much noise he'd wanted him to make, both in bed and especially tonight after the mood changed. How he'd never wished he was somewhere else, even before his damn ridiculously overemotional side woke up and decided to butt in.

Good goin, Walsh. Real great.

He laid down, put his back to Lori, and went to sleep.


	3. Chuckle

Shane didn't expect Daryl to seek him out first, not after last night. The former officer had spent the day toiling away in the woods, setting up a makeshift warning system to alert them of any dead wandering toward camp. He told himself he wasn't avoiding the redneck and his own feelings, but that nagging little voice in the back of his head kept arguing that he knew that was a damn lie.

"Tin cans and string. You makin a phone call?" Daryl sauntered up, crossbow slung over his shoulder.

Shane lost his grip on the can he was holding and fumbled around trying to catch it before it finally dropped. It fell into the pile, and everything clanged and scattered a bit over the forest floor.

"Shit, man," he finally said. "Clear your throat or something."

He swept everything back into a little pile and started working again, wiping a beads sweat off his forehead. Damn did he miss air conditioning. Daryl stood there, quietly watching, observing. Shane wished he had even the tiniest inkling of what was going on in that head, because his own was spewing out thoughts at an alarming rate.

Why was he here? What was last night? What the hell was Shane doing? Why was he a little bit hard at just being watched like this? Why didn't Daryl want anyone to see that perfect little body under there?

"You just gonna stand there and stare, Dixon, or are you gonna help?" Shane nicked his finger a little on one of the cans, not enough to draw blood, but enough to make him huff a little in frustration. Daryl shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

"You just gonna sit there and keep working on your little pet project, or are you gonna fuck me already?"

Shane's head snapped up. He dropped another can. Clang. Scatter. He swore at himself for letting anyone get him so off-kilter like this, even Daryl, especially Daryl.

"What?"

"Didn't exactly come lookin for you for the conversation, Walsh." Daryl slipped the crossbow off his shoulder and leaned it against a tree. "How you want me?"

Shane was torn between confused, ecstatic, and incredibly turned on. He wanted to bring up last night, to dig deeper into who Daryl really was. He also just really wanted to be inside of the redneck again. His head and his dick were having a pretty intense argument about it, and his dick seemed to be winning. Hey, and who was to say he couldn't try to talk about it after?

Shane stood up and started working open his pants.

"Knees."

Daryl obediently got down in front of him, head level with Shane's crotch. He gently pawed Shane's hands away and did the rest of the work on getting him out of his pants.

Soon it was all familiar heat, the soft feel of Daryl's lips sliding up and down his erection, the sound of Daryl gagging himself on his cock, moaning a bit and driving him completely crazy. He had half a mind to let Daryl finish him off. He imagined letting those perfect little lips work him to completion, imagined grabbing Daryl by the hair right at the end and pulling him all the way on so he could paint the back of his throat with warm cum.

Instead, he pulled Daryl off by his short sandy locks and tugged until he got to his feet. He forced their mouths together, tasting himself on Daryl's lips and tongue. It was an action all hungry and wanting. He devoured those lips for as long as he could stand it, and then he pulled away, shoving Daryl toward the closest tree.

Daryl leaned forward and braced himself on the trunk while Shane ripped his loose-fitting jeans down.

"You ever wear underwear, you filthy little whore?"

"What? And put an extra step 'tween me and your dick?"

Shane's hips bucked forward a little bit of their own accord, rutting into thin air. He needed that asshole stretched and wet, and he needed it now.

He squatted down and started working at Daryl's entrance, alternating between wet fingers and spitting directly onto his little pucker. Probably too rushed. Probably too rough. But Daryl said nothing. He barely even tensed. On two fingers, Daryl let out a low little groan, pushing back against him and forcing his fingers in deeper.

Shane couldn't do it anymore. Not after that. He spit three times in his hand, slicked up with it, and slid inside slowly.

Fuck, had Daryl always been that tight? His memories and fantasies had sure as shit not been doing the man justice. Shane pulled almost all the way out and thrust gently back in. His eyelids fluttered.

"Damn, that's good. God, you're such a tight little fuck."

"Yeah? Then do it... harder, asshole," Daryl said, sentence cut right in the middle by a little grunt.

Shane smacked him on the ass for giving him an order, but he did it anyway, thrusting a little deeper and a little rougher. Daryl moaned softly.

That little noise was hot enough to start a forest fire. Shane grabbed the redneck's leg, hiking it up out of one of his pants legs and holding it there while he worked himself in and out of Daryl's ass.

"Oh shit, yes." Daryl grunted out. Shane couldn't help the way his body reacted, the way his hips slammed forward violently at the sound of Daryl enjoying him. Daryl didn't seem to mind. He only groaned more the harder he fucked him. If it hurt at all, he never said.

"Shane..." The former officer pumped until he could hear the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh. "Shane."

"Hm?"

"Leg's crampin up," Daryl said, already trying to stretch it out.

Shane practically shoved him down onto the ground, pushing the other man down by the shoulders. Daryl scrambled onto his hands and knees while Shane knelt down, hurling away a hidden stick that dared to stab him in the knee. Fuck, what he wouldn't give for a bed to fuck this man in proper. He took in the view.

Damn, Daryl spread open in front of him like that was a beautiful sight. He could see the hunter's cock, hard, red-tipped, and oozing arousal. His little pink pucker was gaping slightly, ready and inviting. And those slightly muscular thighs holding it all up, trembling slightly.

"Shit, you are something to look at."

"Shut the hell up, Walsh."

"Sexy little fuck," Shane stared at him with his head cocked to the side, stroking himself lightly. Daryl watched him over his shoulder.

"Window of opportunity for you to get that thing back in my ass is closing."

"Your ass sure ain't."

Daryl let a little groan of frustration and practically mewled his name.

"Turn over," Shane said. He watched Daryl move obediently onto his back, spreading his thighs in anticipation of Shane entering him from the front.

"I swear if anything crawls up my ass, I'm never fucking you again."

Shane didn't answer. The redneck's jeans were barely hanging onto his left ankle. Shane went ahead and took them off the rest of the way. Then, he knelt between Daryl's legs and leaned forward, wrapping his arms up under Daryl's thighs.

"The hell are y—ahhh fuck."

Shane had taken one of Daryl's balls into his mouth, slowly rolling his tongue against the soft flesh. He worked it over with his lips and tongue and then he let it pop out of his mouth before repeating the action on the other side.

"Mmm. Shit." Daryl had never felt anything like it. He'd fondled himself plenty when he was jerking off, but he had never had anything like Shane's mouth. So soft and so wet. Shane pulled away with another little suckling pop, and then he swirled his tongue around the head of Daryl's cock.

Daryl shook, his breath coming out in little spurts.

And then Shane took him into his mouth and the world became nothing but wet heat.

"Fuck."

"Mmm?" Shane's mouth vibrated around his cock and Daryl bucked up, gagging him. Shane gave his outer thigh a hard smack in retaliation, but he didn't stop. Instead he found the sensitive spot right under the head and flicked at it with his tongue.

"Ah, shiiiit," Daryl said, following it with a low throaty groan. He tried to mentally catalog some of the things Shane was doing to him to use later when the positions were reversed. But he was so lost in how damn good it felt, he kept losing track of his thoughts, all of them scattering about like confetti in the wind.

And then the feelings were all gone.

"Why?" Daryl asked, practically whining at the loss of the other man's mouth. It was uninhibited and vulnerable and adorable, and it made Shane want to violate him in every way possible.

"Back on your knees."

Daryl did it, moving like he was half-drunk. A little spit and Shane was inside of him and Daryl was clawing at weeds and grass and half-decayed leaves, pulling away clumps of whatever. He was trembling and panting beneath Shane, who gripped his hips tight, fucking them both into sweaty oblivion.

Daryl came first, spattering cum all over the ground beneath them. Watching the hunter's cock twitch with each little moment of release sent Shane careening over the edge of completion. He pulled out just in time to shoot a small stream onto Daryl's balls before angling himself down toward the ground as well.

He fanned himself over Daryl's back while he caught his breath, daring a little kiss on the top of the hunter's mop of sweaty hair. And then he stood, hitching his pants back up from where they'd caught on his boots.

The hunter sought out his own jeans, abandoned on the ground. He shook away the dirt and leaves and pulled them back on, dusting them off a little more after they were on. Then, he reached for his bow like he was about to head back to camp.

"Where you going?" Shane asked.

"Done, ain't we?"

"Why don't you hang around and help me with this? Unless you got somethin else to do."

Daryl shrugged and let his bow rest back against the tree before picking up a can and threading it onto the string.

"You come up with this?" he asked, after they'd finished hanging up the first line.

"Dale," Shane said, gathering up the supplies to move on to another spot. Daryl nodded.

They worked in silence for a while. Shane watched the way Daryl's arms flexed whenever he moved. He watched the careful way Daryl tied knots in the lines to keep the cans from moving, ensuring they'd stay close enough to one another to actually make noise if anything came in contact with them. It struck him how meticulous he really was. Everything was usually done right the first time, and any mistakes were fixed without complaint.

"So, what's your story man?"

Daryl looked up from where he sat. He was currently testing the distance between two cans before securing them.

"Hm?"

"What were you before all this?"

"A shithead," he said. "Actually, I think that was your word."

"But you had to do somethin, man. How'd you pay for food? Buy crappy flannels to destroy?"

"I was a CEO. Computers and shit. Nice mansion on the hill. Three square meals with multiple courses. Suit and tie." Daryl secured one side of the line around a tree. Damn. Shane couldn't even get a simple answer to a simple question.

"You cut the sleeves out of those suits?" he asked. Daryl smiled in the sort of way people do when they're really trying not to, and Shane figured it had to be the first time he'd seen him do anything like it. Did Daryl ever smile before? No, not really. A smirk or two during sex, but never an actual smile. Something in Shane's chest went a little askew when Daryl looked at him then, blue eyes bright instead of angry, cheeks twitching in a failed attempt to stop his lips from curling up. The hunter shook his head and sighed.

"Hunted, sold meats and pelts, did a little work on cars and bikes, odds and ends stuff," Daryl said, pulling his knife out to cut a length of line after measuring it. "Robbed a few people when Merle asked me to." Daryl looked down at the ground and back up at Shane, recognizing that if the world was still normal, the two of them would be at odds—Daryl, the white trash redneck criminal, and Shane, the cop who could never fully understand the kind of world Daryl came from.

"Hey, man, don't matter anymore," Shane said. "Besides, if I did arrest you, I'm sure we could work something out." He gave the other man an affectionate little cuff on the shoulder. Daryl shook his head.

"That all I am to you, Walsh? A piece of ass?" He was joking, but it still made Shane feel like his insides were rearranging.

"Now c'mon, man," Shane said. "I like your arms too."

And then Daryl was laughing, a quick and strange little "a ha ha."

Shane had heard dozens of things he'd classify as cute. There were the sounds babies and baby animals made, the unsure little way the first girl he'd ever kissed had said "okay," the way his former partner used to say "Shane" whenever he was annoying him.

Daryl's laugh was right up there with all of them, and Shane needed more of it. Hell, if murder had been the thing that would make Daryl giggle, Shane might've happily slaughtered the whole camp.

"What are you staring at?" Daryl asked, and Shane realized he'd been looking at the other man way too long without saying anything. He wondered what it would mean to tell them him the truth. Would it cross some sort of line Daryl wasn't ready to cross? Hell, would Daryl ever be ready to cross any lines on his own? So far, Shane had needed to drag him over every single one. Not that he minded.

"Nothin," he said, "just kinda like the way you laugh." Well, you've gone and done the thing now, Walsh. Daryl made a little "pfft" noise and shook his head.

"Man, that's the gayest thing you've ever said to me, and that's sayin somethin."

"Give me a day or two," Shane said, picking up the last tin can they had. No point in starting a line with just one. "Guess we're done, at least for today."

"Looks like," Daryl said.

"Probably just about dinner time anyway."

"Mhm."

"Should head back," Shane said, looking around to make sure he wasn't leaving any of Dale's tools behind. Daryl picked up his bow. They looked at each other. Something in Shane's belly went wild. He didn't have butterflies. He had motherfucking pterodactyls.

He closed the little bit of space between them because he had to, because he couldn't stand how close and far away Daryl was all at once. And then he pulled the other man to him, kissing him feverishly, hand tangled in his hair.

When he pulled away, Daryl grabbed him by the cheeks and kissed him again, a short and sweet little moment, like the cherry on top of a sundae.

Then without saying another word, the redneck hitched up his bow and headed back toward camp. Shane let him go. Even though they'd been working and had an excuse to be out here together, he didn't want to deal with questions, and he had a feeling too many of them might still send Daryl running.

But Daryl had kissed _him_. He'd been the one who wanted that little moment more, and he'd taken it. That had to be something, right?


	4. Chary

Daryl couldn't stop thinking about that kiss. He had obsessed about a lot of things in his life. He'd obsessed about his brother when he was away, whether or not he was dead or in prison or ever coming back. He'd obsessed about bikes he saw parked up at the local not-so-fast food place with for sale signs taped or cable-tied to them. And he'd obsessed about his bow, putting more effort into maintaining it than he had ever put into maintaining any part of himself.

But his thoughts about the kiss were on a whole different level altogether. If he closed his eyes and focused hard enough, he swore he could still feel Shane's fingers clutching at his hair. And then Daryl had kissed him too. He'd clutched at Shane's cheeks, felt his stubble beneath his fingers, pulled him close... For the life of him, Daryl couldn't figure out why the hell he'd done that. Why did he go in for more?

It seemed so stupid now. He and Shane weren't some sort of couple. They weren't exchanging "I love you"s by the glow of the damn moonlight. They were using each other to get off, and that was that. Fucking, fucking, and more fucking. That was him and Shane. God, what if his stupid little kiss ruined everything?

"You even listening to me, baby brother?" Merle asked.

Daryl looked up from where he'd been playing in his breakfast, scooting squirrel meat around on his plate while his brain ran around in circles. He took a few bites. He wouldn't waste it no matter how long it took him to eat it all.

"What?"

"Said they're plannin a run into Atlanta tomorrow."

"Yeah?"

"Same group as last time, except Blondie's goin. Hoping ol' Merle can get her alone on some rooftop in the city. Give her a little taste of romance. Dixon style." He grabbed his crotch and shook it a bit. Daryl struggled not to vomit up what little bit of squirrel meat he'd eaten.

"What you makin that face for, baby bro? Mean to tell me you wouldn't put it to her real good if you had the chance?"

Daryl couldn't stop his brain from flashing to an image of Shane staring down at him while he choked on his cock, his own eyes watering. God, how hard had it made him to know he had the power to pull those reactions out of Shane Walsh? How hard had it made him to feel that damn __filthy__? No way Andrea could do that for him. She was pretty, sure. He was capable of seeing that much. But it was the same way one thinks a sunset is pretty. Daryl had never wanted to fuck a sunset.

"Maybe you'd prefer little Amy? You always did like fresher meat."

Daryl forced himself to swallow the last bite and sat his bowl down.

"Did you have a damn point to that story, Merle? Other than how much you're gonna fail at getting your dick wet, I mean."

"Gonna go on that run. And then when I get back, I reckon we oughtta split like we planned on. Things've quieted down enough out there, and those supplies we grab in the city should give us plenty to take off with."

Daryl's chest constricted a little. He forced his vision to stay straight ahead, to look at dirt by his feet instead of straying over to the main part of camp.

He knew Shane would be sitting there by the campfire. For the first time, some tiny part of him wished he was sitting over there too instead of over here with his pervert of a brother.

How the hell was he going to convince Merle to stay here with these people?

Oh hey, since you mentioned sex and hightailing, you should know I've been puttin' my tail pretty damn high for Officer Asshole. So, you see, we just can't leave.

And shit, that wasn't even a good reason. We can't leave because I'm getting really good sex? What kind of shit was that?

Some tiny voice in the back of his head asked, "just sex?" And he was back on the kiss, on the feeling that some invisible force had hooked into his tummy and tugged. That's why he'd done it really, why he'd kissed Shane. He just couldn't not.

"You gonna answer me any time 'fore the second coming, Daryl?"

Daryl looked up, defeated. He knew really that if Merle wanted to go, they'd go. He'd betray Shane and everyone else, and that would be the end of it. He'd never see him or the others again either. They'd all wake up the following morning with half their shit and the Dixons gone, and that would be the end of it.

"Guess we'll make plans when ya get back," Daryl said, and the picked up his bow and headed for the woods, toward nature and the only constant that always made sense.

* * *

><p>Daryl knew the little bird whistle he was hearing wasn't a real bird. It wasn't a bad imitation, but Daryl could damn well tell. He'd been sitting against a tree in the woods for a couple of hours judging by the position of the sun in the sky. He'd managed to nail a couple of passing squirrels, which he hadn't even gone to retrieve yet, but that was about it in the way of hunting. He was mostly out there to get away from Merle and to hide from the idea that he might never see this patch of woods again. Nearby, the tin cans rattled quietly in the breeze.<p>

"Watch your step so you don't ruin my dinner," he said when he finally heard the footsteps to go along with the whistling.

Shane stepped around a tree and picked the two impaled squirrels up off the ground.

"Never cared much for squirrel meat. So tough." Shane sat them down next to Daryl who sat to work pulling the bolts out, wiping them on the grass and then his pants leg.

"Didn't have much room for bein picky growin up," Daryl said. He didn't really know why. Typically he didn't like to share much about his upbringing. But he'd never have to see Shane again after tomorrow, so what did it matter?

The former cop sat down next to him and leaned back against the tree as well. Daryl made a note of how close their hands were on the dirt. He only needed to move about an inch for his pinky to brush against Shane's. Why did he want that so much?

Hand holdin? What was this? Fifth grade?

"You alright?" Shane asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, I figured you were out here huntin, which would be about par for the course as far as you're concerned. But this ain't exactly huntin, Daryl."

"Sure it is," Daryl said. "Got two squirrels, didn't I?"

Shane made a little "pfft" noise and shook his head, going quiet.

Daryl looked from him to the sky. He watched the leaves flutter back and forth over the pale blue. He wanted to tell him about Merle. He wanted to move his hand. He wanted to kiss him again. He wanted...

Jesus, Dixon, you fuckin' queer. Get a hold of yourself.

He thumbed his crossbow where it sat in his lap.

"Ever shot one before?" Daryl asked.

"A squirrel?"

"Nuh uh." Daryl patted his bow.

"Nah, man. Regular bow, but not one of those."

"Mhm," Daryl said, still stroking it lightly. "You wanna?"

"Shit, Daryl. You actually gonna let me touch her?"

Daryl laughed quietly, and Shane seemed to get a little more still. It reminded Daryl of when he heard something on a hunt and wanted to put all his focus on listening. Sometimes he wouldn't even breathe.

"Yeah, but if you break her, they'll have to drag your dead body out of the quarry." Daryl passed it over. He was surprised at the reverence Shane seemed to have when he handled it.

The former cop ran his hand gently down the length of it and looked to Daryl, awaiting instruction. Daryl took it as an opportunity to move closer, scooting until the right side of his body pressed up against Shane's. God, that felt so comfortable and so right. He mentally bitch-slapped himself for how much he liked it.

"You wanna make sure the safety's on," Daryl said.

"Didn't even know it had one."

"Mhm." Daryl leaned forward to show him, his upper arm rubbing against Shane's. He was actually sitting too close. Way too close. But Shane didn't say a word.

"Alright, so it's on."

Daryl side-eyed Shane and realized that he wasn't even looking at the bow. He was looking at him. You are not going to kiss him again, Daryl. Not again. Not like that.

"So you put the bolt in this little area here..." Daryl ran his finger through the channel. Shane followed it with his own. "And you... you... You wanna make sure the..." Shane's finger had left the crossbow, trailing up Daryl's hand. The hunter forgot how to breathe, his exhale getting caught two or three times on the way out.

Daryl turned and looked at Shane. The former cop sat perfectly still other than his hand, gently rubbing Daryl's forearm. He held Daryl's eyes with his own, quiet and waiting.

And there was that tug again. Like his insides were trying to get close to Shane and weren't willing to wait for the rest of him.

"Fuck," Daryl said.

"You said it."

And then Daryl followed the pull where it lead, pushing his lips softly against Shane's. The other man's hand trailed slowly up the rest of Daryl's arm, coming to rest on the back of his neck, pulling his lips more firmly against his.

Somewhere in there, Daryl shifted, gently moving his bow out of Shane's lap so he could take its place, kneeling and straddling Shane's thighs. His hands found the place right under the other man's jaw. Weathered fingers stroked at his barely-there stubble and the soft edges of his hairline. Shane's other hand rested on the small of Daryl's back. The hunter could feel the warmth of it even through his shirt.

Daryl waited for the inevitable shift, for Shane to grab his ass or to start tugging at his clothing or to order him do something overtly sexual. But it didn't come.

Instead, the kiss slowed, and that somehow made it even more intense than it already had been. He could feel Shane's fingers in his hair, stroking it and lightly scratching his scalp. A pleasurable little chill ran up the center of his back.

No one had ever touched his head like that. The closest he'd ever been was back when some nosy neighbor lady goody two shoes preacher's wife up the road had taken pity on his tangled mop of hair as a kid and dragged him down to the local salon. She'd had it washed and cut. He remembered how much he'd resented it. Shit, no little boy wants to be bathed at all, let alone in a ladies hair salon. But then his head was under the sink and the woman was massaging shampoo into it, and it was probably the nicest way anyone had ever touched him.

But now...

Shane pulled away a minute and rested his forehead against Daryl's.

"Guess you're as screwed as I am, huh?" He brushed Daryl's cheek a little with the backs of his fingers.

Daryl should have wanted to tear off through the woods. He knew he should have.

You can do it. Just grab your crossbow and your stupid dead squirrels and go back to camp. The longer you stay here, the more you'll regret after tomorrow.

Instead, he leaned into Shane's touch.

"Daryl, you are a fucking beautiful thing."

He couldn't bring himself to respond or to even look at Shane. He leaned forward and laid his head on Shane's shoulder, just sitting there and listening to him breathing.

What the hell have you gone and done, Daryl?

He turned his head and gave Shane's neck soft little kisses. The other man leaned his head to the side a little so Daryl had more room to work with.

"Do we even have to go back?" Shane asked.

There was a fantasy Daryl desperately wanted to play along with.

"We've got the bow and two squirrels to start with. We could make it."

"Got my gun too." Shane patted it.

"Little bit of water left. Stream's right over there." Daryl lazily waved his arm. He didn't even know if Shane saw.

"No more worrying. Just me and you lookin out for each other. We'd make it, no sweat." Shane reached over and grabbed Daryl's chin, gently nudging his face until he could kiss him again. It was a sweet little moment, not even any tongue, just lips between lips, punctuated with tiny pecks.

"No asshole brothers," Daryl said quietly.

"No baggage," Shane replied, and it sounded more like an agreement than its own separate statement.

More kisses. More Shane touching Daryl's face like he wanted to memorize every line, every feature, every scar and mole and stray beard hair.

"I don't wanna go," Daryl said quietly, like the idea of it was the most painful thing he could think of. And really it was.

"Hey, man, we're not going anywhere. Just daydreamin."

But Daryl was going somewhere. Just not with Shane.

Maybe he could tell him. Maybe Shane could __accidentally__ catch them trying to leave. Maybe he could somehow stop it.

Pfft. Yeah, right. The rest of the group would want him and Merle gone. And if Shane explained how he'd found out so they wouldn't turn on Daryl, they'd still want Merle gone.

Daryl had a choice to make, but really he knew it was already made.

This would be just like that day at the hair salon. A nice thing he had once. Something beautiful to remember wedged in there among all the other awful bullshit that had made up his piss poor excuse for a life.

He wanted to sob on Shane's shoulder like a little boy. And something told him Shane would have probably let him without judgment. But they weren't there yet. And they never would be.

"Daryl are y—shit." Shane tensed up.

Daryl heard the rustling too, coming from somewhere nearby, and he scrambled off Shane's lap before anyone could see him there. Not that it would matter if it was anyone but Merle. He'd only have to keep them quiet for one day.

He sat there on the ground, all flustered, trying to remember how to think. He needed something to do. Needed to look natural. He reached for the squirrels and stood, ready to make it look like he'd just finished retrieving a kill. It took him a second too long to realize the pattern of the footsteps was abnormal.

"Daryl." Shane yanked him back as the walker came around the tree. He felt slimy fingertips brush against his arm. Close call.

"Hey. You." Shane clapped his hands and started walking backwards, nodding toward Daryl. Daryl understood, grabbing his bow. That thing was too close to Shane. Way too close.

"Hey, you ugly bitch. I taste sweeter." The thing swung around at Daryl's voice, and Shane kicked it in the back of the knees, forcing it to the ground. And Daryl unloaded the bolt into her skull putrid skull. The hunter leaned over to retrieve the arrow, and when he looked up, Shane was already standing there.

"You alright? Missed you, didn't she?" Shane reached for him, but Daryl flinched away.

"Yeah." Daryl wiped his arm on his pants leg again and again until his skin burned and he was satisfied with how clean it felt. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Shane said. "You'd have done the same." He picked up Daryl's squirrels by their tails and handed them to him. "Besides, watching you get bit would have really put a damper on this perfect morning."

"Reckon?" Daryl asked, as they took a few steps. Didn't matter where so long as it was away from the corpse.

"Little bit." Shane gave his forearm a little squeeze while they walked.

"At least you would've had plenty to remember me by." Daryl tried not to think about how true that would be soon. They walked on a little bit more, basically skirting around the outside of the tin can boundary, checking on the lines as they went.

"So," Shane said, looking at his watch, "we got a little time before lunch."

Daryl waited. He expected it to turn filthy. In a way, he wanted it to. Sexual oblivion. Maybe later he could even convince himself that he and Shane had never had anything else, that those things Shane had said under the tree were all bullshit he'd made up in his own head. Or bullshit Shane had made up to get in his pants. Please?

"How about we finish that lesson?" Shane reached for the bow and Daryl let it slide out of his hands, nodding his consent.

Between then and lunch, he taught Shane how to load and nock the bolt, the best way to aim, how to unload if need be, and everything else he could think to share. He let Shane practice hunting squirrels and even a wild rabbit.

The former cop didn't quite have it down. Mostly, he was shit at doing everything quietly enough not to scare anything off before he could kill it. But his aim was decent since he already had experience with other weapons. And he could always adjust to improve his weaknesses or work around them. He would get it eventually.

Daryl watched him take aim and miss another squirrel, this time only by a hair.

At least he'd be leaving Shane with something a lot more useful than a few stupid memories.


	5. Chase

Shane had always been a morning person. Even as a teenager when most of his friends slept until the last possible minute and came to school with gunk still in the corners of their eyes, he had a tendency to be awake an hour before he needed to be. Something about that hour always seemed so peaceful and serene. He'd stay in bed, stare into space, and let his mind wander while the rest of the world seemed to sleep on. That extra hour was his and his alone.

The apocalypse hadn't changed that. Even with people getting up early to take advantage of the daylight, Shane still found himself awake before almost everyone. He'd stare at the ceiling of the tent, and surrounded by the soft sounds of Lori and Carl breathing, he'd let his mind flow where it pleased.

Here lately though, it was like someone had dammed up the waterway, and the river of his mind seemed to flow straight into Lake Daryl no matter where he started the stream of consciousness.

What are we gonna eat when the food runs out? Hey, there's always what Daryl brings in. Daryl sitting in his lap, warm and comfortable across his thighs, kissing him like he still wasn't sure if he was doing it right. Daryl trusting him to touch the bow. Daryl's little kisses on his neck. Daryl Daryl Daryl.

"What you thinkin' about?" Lori asked, voice a little slurred, like her mouth was still asleep.

"Food." It wasn't a complete lie.

"Mhm." She went quiet again, snuggling against his chest.

Merle would be in Atlanta all day.

Shane slipped out from underneath Lori who had fallen back asleep. He dressed and climbed out of the tent, slipping his shoes on. Something told him Daryl was already awake. Hell, something told him Daryl didn't sleep much at all.

He found Jim on top of the RV, rubbing his eyes. It would be near the end of his watch shift.

"Anything going on?"

"Nothing unusual. You're the first one up besides Daryl." Jim had to be one of the only people in camp who called Daryl by his first name all the time. To everyone else, he was Dixon. Didn't matter if it was Daryl or Merle. They were interchangeable. Irrelevant and only referred to by most when wholly necessary.

"Where's he?"

Jim looked toward the woods, almost like it was a stupid question.

"Good."

Shane didn't say anything else. He just headed toward the trees, walking a little too fast. By his calculations, he and Daryl could get each other off before half the camp had even thought about breakfast.

* * *

><p>Since all this shit started, Daryl's peaceful little mornings had been interrupted by having his shit for brains brother constantly by his side. Merle snored like a chainsaw, probably because he'd fucked up his lungs with cigarettes and fucked up his nasal cavity with every snort-able drug imaginable. It was hard for Daryl to think with all that noise.<p>

Then again, all he was really doing now was fretting anyway. This would be his last day here. Merle had made that clear enough last night when he'd forced Daryl to plan exactly how the two of them were going to leave. His big brother had mapped out every single little detail from their escape route to what they were going to take and how they were going to do it.

If Merle was anything, he was a good thief.

"_Has to be tomorrow night, baby brother. Neither one of us is on night watch for another week."_

Daryl rolled over and pressed a wad of blankets over his ear. But Merle's snores penetrated through every layer.

With a sigh, he got up and grabbed his crossbow. He didn't want to be there when Merle woke up anyway, didn't want to listen to Merle remind him of the plan five hundred times, like Daryl was a fucking idiot, like Daryl hadn't already memorized every agonizing step, right down to the part where he'd look back at Shane's tent one last time and think of all the things that could've been if he was literally anyone but Daryl Dixon.

* * *

><p>The woods were several decibels quieter. Daryl trailed through them quietly, barely disturbing anything around him as he went. This was his element, the place where he felt safe and comfortable. Nothing out here cared that he was trash, that he was "one of <em>those<em> Dixons" and not one of the ritzy ones who owned Dixon's hardware. Nothing out here cared that he was going to betray the only good thing that had happened to him in years, that he couldn't stand up to his damn idiot drug addled brother.

Out here, all that mattered was how fast and accurately he could fire off his bow.

And he was very good at that. He already had a wild hare and a couple of squirrels on him to prove it.

He stepped quietly around an oak tree that had probably started growing before his grandfather was even conceived. There were two more little bushy tailed fuckers, frolicking around the base of a small cedar tree. Daryl stayed back. Cedar made him itch like the devil had spit on him.

But Daryl was patient. He waited to see if one'd move away from the tree enough that he'd be willing to retrieve his kill. And they as shit sure did.

Close by, a stick cracked under something big. The squirrels took off running, and Daryl swore under his breath. And then there was that damn stupid fake bird whistle again.

"Shane, you owe me a damn squirrel." Daryl lowered his bow and waited for Shane to round whichever tree was currently hiding him from view.

"That right?" Shane stepped out, pushing a low branch out of his way.

"Scared 'em off with your damn elephant feet."

"Morning to you too, Daryl."

Daryl rolled his eyes. God, why did Shane insist on continuing this? Why did Shane want him of all the damn people left alive on the planet? Why couldn't he let Daryl deal with knowing this was pretty much already over in peace?

"The hell you want, Walsh?"

"Shit. You always this cranky in the morning?" Shane asked, rubbing the back of his head. "Though I gotta admit it's kinda cute."

"Pfft." Please stop. I don't need to hear shit like that right now.

Shane took a step forward, eyes flirty and hungry.

"What I want is to fuck that pretty little mouth before everyone else gets up."

"That right?"

On the one hand, Daryl just wanted to be alone. He hadn't really even wanted to see Shane that day aside from when he couldn't avoid him. On the other hand, one more down and dirty little fuck would give him what he needed... That sweet filthy oblivion he'd been wanting the day before.

Daryl shrugged.

"Then why are you still standing?" Shane started undoing his belt, and Daryl set his crossbow down before dropping to his knees, undoing it the rest of the way for him. He yanked Shane's pants down his thighs a little and took him into his mouth, staring up at him.

"That's it," Shane said, watching Daryl bob up and down his length. The hunter swirled his tongue around the head and Shane groaned quietly.

"Cmon, Daryl. I know you can do better." Shane tangled his fingers in Daryl's short hair and pulled him hard onto his erection, making him gag around it. Daryl growled in his throat and grabbed Shane's hips, digging his fingers into the skin, tugging hard and practically forcing Shane to fuck his mouth.

"Damn, you want it today too, huh?" Shane thrust between Daryl's lips a few more times, and then he ripped Daryl off of him. "Now get up here and fucking kiss me."

Daryl stood and shoved Shane into the closest tree, covering his mouth with his. It was the most aggressive thing he'd ever done, but he'd made up his mind. He needed this. He needed to forget that they were ever more.

Shane flipped them around and shoved the hunter against the tree by the throat. He ran his tongue up Daryl's neck and stopped with his mouth by the other man's ear.

"You forget I'm the one in charge here?"

"Fuck you."

Shane slapped him across the face and then kissed him hungrily. Owning him. Claiming him.

"Turn around, motherfucker. Pants down," Shane said, but he was already forcing Daryl into position. It was a joint effort between Daryl shoving his jeans out of the way and Shane tugging at the fabric that finally got them off. Shane tossed them over a low branch and laid a hard slap across one of Daryl's cheeks.

"Wet 'em," Shane said, shoving his fingers into Daryl's mouth. Daryl pulled away.

"You fuckin do it, asshole," Daryl growled.

Shane smacked his ass again.

"I told you to fuckin wet 'em, Daryl."

The hunter opened his mouth, glaring at Shane with a mix of lust and defiance. The former cop choked him on three of his fingers, fucking his throat with them until there were tears welling up in Daryl's eyes.

"Hurry the fuck up," Daryl said, working to catch his breath once Shane's digits weren't blocking his airway.

"Damn, boy, you are needy this mornin." Shane started working him open.

"And you're takin too damn long." Daryl pushed himself back on Shane's fingers, wincing a little but not stopping.

Shane pulled them out, growling, and then he turned the hunter around, shoving his back against the tree.

"Fine," Shane said, "you want it rough like the whore you are, then you can damn well have it." He hiked up Daryl's leg and stared him in the eye as he entered him. The hunter flinched a little, but he also put his hand on Shane's lower back and pulled him closer.

Then everything became a blur of heat and friction and frenzy. Tree bark dug into Daryl's skin and scraped his back even through his shirt, but all he cared about was the feeling of Shane thrusting into him, of Shane's hand squeezing his thigh as he held his leg up, of Shane's mouth every place it could conceivably reach in this position.

"More," Daryl demanded. Shane slapped him across the face and spit on him for the order, but he thrust harder anyway, railing Daryl into the tree. The hunter's head fell back, mouth open.

"This what you want, Daryl?" Shane asked before completely devouring his mouth. "Wanna be fucked until you can barely walk?"

God yes. Make me remember you. Make me remember how this meant nothing.

Daryl looked back at him, eyelids fluttering, tiny suppressed groans escaping from deep in his throat.

"If your plan's me not walkin, you better try harder," Daryl said, and a dangerous little smile spread across Shane's face.

Shane used his body to force Daryl harder against the tree, supporting himself on the hunter for better leverage. Daryl felt some of the air slip out of his lungs and went a little woozy. But Shane was already fucking him into oblivion. He'd have to come up with some story to get his brother to dig the splinters out of his back, but what did it fucking matter?

"Filthy. Little. Fuck." Shane punctuated each word with a thrust, and Daryl knew he was practically gone. He bit into Shane's shoulder, using his flesh to muffle the noises coming out of his mouth. It was almost over. Any movement now could be the wave that capsized the ship.

"Fuck," Daryl growled against Shane's skin. "Fucking fuck."

"That's it, slut. Cum all over us." Shane spit in his hand and grabbed Daryl's cock, and then it was over. Daryl was groaning and whimpering and emptying himself in time with Shane's pumps. Shane gave him a couple more thrusts and then he was moaning too, filling Daryl up, panting against his neck.

He slipped out, dropping Daryl's leg, pulling back to look at him.

Daryl couldn't keep his eyes off the little drop of cum that had somehow landed on Shane's chin. He leaned forward and licked it off, running his tongue up Shane's jaw. And then he was done.

He shoved the other man away and found his pants, pulling them on. He could already feel cum leaking out of him, and he knew he'd be looking for a cool steam to clean up in soon.

He zipped up and bent over for his bow. God, he was probably right about the not being able to walk thing. But Daryl had plenty of experience in pretending things didn't hurt when he moved. He'd had much worse.

"Damn," Shane said, doing up his belt with a smile on his face. "Was not expecting that."

"Yep. Got what you wanted. Now fuck off." Daryl picked up his bow and started to walk deeper into the woods. Shane's smile faded so fast, it may as well have never been there.

"What the hell?" Shane reached for him, grabbing his shoulder and forcing him to stop. Daryl winced a little, and Shane realized there were little scratches on the parts of his shoulders that weren't covered. He loosened his grip. "What do you mean I got what I wanted?"

"You came lookin for a fuck. You got one. Transaction over." Daryl moved his shoulder out of Shane's hand.

Please stop touching me. It's over now. Let it be over.

"Man, what the hell is with you?" Shane asked, tilting his head. "You really think that?" He tried to touch him again, more gentle this time.

"Keep your fuckin hands off me, faggot." Daryl spat at the ground by Shane's feet.

Shane looked like he'd been punched in the gut. It took him a second to recover.

Daryl wanted to hug him. He wanted to hug him and kiss him and tell him he didn't fucking mean any of it. He wanted to be back in his lap like yesterday, listening to him breathe, being touched by someone in a way that didn't make him wish he was dead.

But it was better this way.

"Did... Merle find out or somethin?" Shane asked. "What's going on, Daryl? Just talk to me."

"Nothin's goin on, and no one knows shit. Your little secret's safe with me." Daryl shrugged like it meant nothing to say that. Like his stomach wasn't trying to tear its way out of him.

"_My _secret?"

"Mhm." Daryl tried to turn away again.

"Nah man, we ain't gonna do this," Shane said. "I mean something to you. You don't get to just walk away."

Daryl cringed, knowing Shane couldn't see it. You don't fuckin get it, you beautiful fucking asshole. I don't have a choice. It's either now or later, but either way, it's happening.

"Watch me," Daryl said. "Already know you like checkin out my ass."

But Shane grabbed him again. He tried to wrap Daryl up in his arms, to hold him until he broke down and said what all this was really about, but Daryl's fist connected with his jaw and Shane stumbled back.

It wasn't a hard punch. Daryl's heart hadn't really been in it, and he had no desire to hurt Shane. He just needed to do something, anything to make the other man let him go. The former cop stood there, staring at Daryl and rubbing his jaw.

And then Daryl was gone, tearing through the trees, ignoring the pain that came with each step.

When he was far enough away, he fell on the ground and curled up in a little ball, just like he was a kid again, running into the woods to escape. He let himself sob once, and he wasn't sure if it was from the ache of making Shane fuck him that hard, from the dull burning on almost every inch of his back, or from something else entirely. He suspected all three, the latter of which was the worst of it.

That's enough. You were an idiot to think you could ever have anything special. The world's only getting worse now. Buck up, Dixon.

Daryl got to his feet slowly, face screwed up as he concentrated on fighting how much it hurt to do so.

He hitched his bow up on his shoulder and kept walking. He'd need to have enough food by tonight to get him and Merle through a few days without needing to stop. They'd want to put distance between themselves and the camp in case anyone followed. Two squirrels and rabbit weren't gonna do it.

* * *

><p>Shane's first instinct had been to punch Daryl back. It had taken everything in him not to, and by the time he'd fought away that primal urge, Daryl was already gone. And he was too pissed to go after him no matter how much he thought he needed to. He'd deal with that shit later.<p>

The ax came down with a loud, satisfying thud, wood splintering apart ahead of the blade. Shane grabbed another log from the pile. He chopped and repeated until his arms and hands were aching. And then he kept going.

Nearby, the CB crackled. Shane stilled immediately, listening. The voice on the other end came through, broken and crackly but there. Amy was already sliding onto her knees by the radio.

"Hello, hello. Can anybody hear my voice?"

Suddenly it felt like an elephant had used Shane as a step stool. All the air left his lungs, and his heart constricted with a little ache. That voice. It sounded like his...

But it couldn't be. He was long gone.

Shane turned away from the excitement. Hearing anything that sounded like his voice was too painful, and he really didn't need the ghost of one lover haunting him on the same day the other had turned him away. He brought the ax down again.


	6. Change

After the way Daryl had looked at him in the woods the day before, Shane had thought he'd probably never touch Lori again. Something about the way the hunter had looked at him coupled with that little utterance of "fuck," had made Shane so damn sure. It was like Daryl had known he was done for. Like he'd both known and recognized so fully that his and Shane's hearts were on course for a collision that could not possibly be averted.

But then he'd pushed him away. Then he'd said things to deliberately wound him. Then he'd hurt him on purpose.

Some part of Shane knew there had to be a reason, knew it was probably just too much too fast.

But that didn't stop him from being fucking angry. And then they'd made him get on the CB. They'd made him try to talk to that fucking voice. And Lori. Fucking Lori bitching about warning people away from Atlanta. Like it was their personal duty to try to save the unsaveable shitswirl that was the world.

Was he the only damn person who could see how bad this already was?

"You pissed at me?" he asked, but Lori kept walking, traipsing off like he was the bad guy for not letting her go out and get herself killed just to put up some fucking signs.

Can't you see I owe it to him to keep his family safe? Shit, can't you see you do too?

He followed her into the tent. He said what he needed to say. Hell, he was probably a bit of a dick about it if he was being honest.

And then he'd kissed her because fuck everything. And later he'd sought her out and whispered, "I want you" in her ear, because fuck everything some more.

And now she was beneath him in the woods. And he was into it. She was the perfect outlet for all his anger. He ran his tongue up her skin, tasting her. He tried to lose himself in the small part of him that still found her desirable. Hadn't he once? It had been so long since he'd decided to let her go. He stared down at her, trying to remember how she'd looked back then. Lori Ranes in her little cheerleader uniform, flying through the air on the sidelines with the flaps of her cheer skirt up in the air, revealing those tight little bloomers underneath. He could almost remember how much he'd wanted her to leave the uniform on if they'd ever...

And then his eyes fell on the wedding ring around her neck. Like he needed the damn reminder. Like the voice wasn't enough. He stared at it until she noticed and took it off.

He could still do this. He could lose himself in her again just like he had when this whole mess had started.

He entered her and she sighed beneath him, gripping him tight, hot breath on his skin. But he could feel the bile rising in his throat. His mind flashed to Daryl sitting comfortably across his lap. To the verbal beat-down and the punch to the face. Something was wrong, and instead of trying to help him, this was what he did.

Fucking traitor, Shane. You're a fucking traitor.

He flipped Lori over so he didn't have to look at her and finished what he started.

* * *

><p>Daryl's hands shook around his bow, violently enough that he struggled to aim. He took a shot at a squirrel and watched the bolt fly straight past its head and lodge into a tree. Cedar too. Fucking great.<p>

He had heard Shane stomping around out here, or at least he'd thought it was him popping sticks and scaring off every flock of birds in his path. So he'd followed, thinking maybe Shane was looking for him. That Shane would even come back for him after that display this morning made Daryl's chest ache.

But it was Lori's voice he heard first, not Shane's. Daryl had peered through the trees, body still aching from the waist down, and listened. She wasn't alone.

"You scared the hell out of me."

No.

"That's what you get for keeping me waitin."

No. God no.

But Shane was already kissing her, touching her, licking her. Daryl had turned and left without so much as disturbing a leaf.

And now his damn bolt was lodged in a damn cedar tree. Waxy leaves shook gently in the breeze, taunting him. There was no way he could get close enough to get it out without making contact with at least one. Daryl swore to himself.

He thought about whether or not he could just leave it behind, but he knew better. He'd already lost plenty using them on those damn things and not being able to retrieve them. He couldn't give one up just because he didn't want to face down a damn tree.

The nearest stream was about thirty or so yards from here. Maybe if he hurried and washed it off, it wouldn't be too bad.

Daryl bounced on his feet, psyching himself up a little, and then dove in, snatching the arrow out of the tree. He could feel the cedar leaves scratching lightly against his entire arm. Fuck, this was going to suck ass. Then again, so had the rest of his day.

He took off toward the stream immediately, not bothering to step lightly. His skin was already on fire from wrist to shoulder. He resisted the urge to scratch, knowing that as much as he wanted to, it would only make the whole thing worse. Jumping a little to clear a rotting limb, Daryl hit the bank. Dropping his kills and his bow at the edge, he half-ran, half-leaped into the stream, falling onto his elbows to submerge himself in the cool water, letting it wash over his entire arm. He scrubbed at his skin using a handful of mud from the bottom. And then he did it some more, until his skin was angry, and the itching and burning had melded into one indistinguishable feeling. He lowered himself back down on his elbows, enjoying the feeling of the cool stream against his raw flesh.

"Fuck." He tried to get up on his knees, but the physical strain from running here had awakened the pain in his lower body. Every attempt at moving made it feel like he had a billion knives lodged inside of him, and he wondered if he'd made Shane break a lot more than his heart that day. He punched the water violently, sending droplets flying everywhere including his face. "Fuck." He hit it again, this time purposely sending a tidal wave of the stuff flying at a dragonfly perched on the bank. It took off.

"Fuck you too," Daryl said, watching it disappear.

He'd been trying to make it easier for Shane. He hadn't really expected him to go jump immediately back into Lori's vagina.

But no, this was for the best. This showed Daryl exactly how much he had really meant. With every bit of strength he could muster, he crawled out of the stream, whimpering quietly with each movement. He collapsed on his back in the dirt, unable to go any further. He was ready to leave now, more than ready to put this place and these fucking people behind him. If only he could move.

He looked down at his arm, the pink tint slowly but steadily fading. At least the day seemed to be turning around a little. He huffed. Man, it had to be shitty if that was his idea of a turnaround. He took a deep breath and waited for his body to cooperate again.

At nearly sunset, the hills started screaming with the sound of a car alarm. Daryl stayed where he was because the alternative was physically unbearable. It wouldn't be the first time he spent the night in the woods.

* * *

><p>Shane had to be staring at a ghost. That was the only explanation. Shit, if the dead could walk again, why couldn't ghosts be real too?<p>

But, no, Morales said that the new guy helped get them out. Unless they were all losing their mind on the same damn day, then someone had to be standing there...

Carl tore past him and into the would-be ghost's arms, and that was all Shane needed to know this was all real. Rick was alive. He was alive and really here. Shane's heart exploded into a thousand pieces and reassembled itself in his chest. His palms felt warmer.

Everything blurred together. Rick carrying Carl. Lori and Carl clutched tightly in uniformed arms. And then Rick looked over at him, drunk on happiness and love and Shane couldn't help but smile. Hadn't he dreamed this a thousand times since he'd left what he thought was an empty body back at that hospital? Of course in his dreams,__he __was the first one Rick ran to, but he knew Carl came first in reality.

So he waited patiently for his turn, and then he threw his arms around Rick, pulling him as close to him as he physically could, mumbling in his ear.

"I thought you were dead," Shane said. "I never would've left you there if I'd known."

"I know, Shane," Rick said. "I know."

But something about the look in Lori's eyes said she thought differently. Surely she didn't think he would do something like that on purpose? That he would leave Rick to be torn apart by those things? Hell, even if he really __had __wanted him dead just to get with her, he would have done the job himself.

I've had my dick in your husband more than I've had it in you, woman. If I'd wanted either of you dead to clear a path to the other, it would have been you.

That single horrible thought brought what seemed like a million memories rushing back—catching glimpses of Rick's beautifully sculpted form when they used the showers at the station. The all night patrol where Shane had first made his move, suggesting a way they could pass the time by sliding his hand into Rick's lap. Him and Rick fucking in the back of the squad car, turning each other over and pinning each other down as they both tried to take control. The first time Rick had mumbled, "I love you" into his ear in the dull light of a barely-begun sunrise.

Shane knew he had to let go. He couldn't hold Rick any longer without raising some eyebrows, so he gave him one last squeeze and released him, trying to say with his eyes all the things he couldn't say out loud knowing Carl and Lori and everyone else were standing around. Rick nodded and turned back to sweep his family into his arms again.

* * *

><p>The stream trickled by in the dark. Daryl could barely see the water moving next to him from where he lay on the bank, but he could see it nonetheless, seemingly inky black in the pale moonlight. He wondered what Merle was doing back at the camp. Probably fuming at him for not being there to leave that night as planned. If only his brother knew.<p>

Then again, it wasn't like he could really tell him.

"__Hey Merle, I made Shane rail me so hard in the ass I couldn't walk anymore. Sorry for being late." __Yeah, that would go over well. Daryl found himself wondering which of the two of them Merle would go after. Would he try to kill Shane for making his little brother one of those "sissy faggot queers"? Or would he beat Daryl senseless for having the nerve to let some guy ram his dick up his ass?

Probably the latter. If Merle had any sense at all (and he didn't have much), he would know Shane could beat his ass into the ground if he wanted to.

Overhead, thunder rumbled. Great. Just great. Daryl put his arms under his head and waited for the rain to fall.

* * *

><p>Shane had previously thought the day he had to leave Rick's body behind at the hospital was the worst day of his life. It's hard to really top believing the person you love most in the world is dead.<p>

But damn was today really trying. It had been a long one too. Daryl this morning. The radio. Lori. The unexpected return of Rick. And it still wasn't over.

Every word out of Rick's mouth made him feel guilty. He should have checked harder to see if Rick was still breathing. What had he really done for the man who meant the world to him? He had left him there with nothing but a cot in front of his door and hoped that would be enough to keep his corpse from being devoured. What a good friend he had been.

And on top of that, Daryl wasn't back from his hunt. Shane knew it wouldn't be the first time Daryl had stayed out in the woods. Sometimes he even suspected Daryl did it deliberately to avoid his brother. But after the morning they'd had, it seemed wrong somehow.

He took some of his frustration out on Ed. It wasn't at all satisfying. He was hoping for a fight. That piece of shit had it coming for beating up on his wife and doing God only knows to his little girl. But the fucker complied instead of further instigating. Wife beaters were always such cowardly sons of bitches.

"Have you given any thought to Daryl Dixon? He won't be happy to hear his brother was left behind." Dale looked around at the group. Shane thought he looked at him a second too long, but maybe that was just paranoia. After all, Shane was the unofficial leader here. It would make sense to look at him a little more.

He listened quietly to the discussion about who should break the news. Shane wanted to step in and say it would probably be best if he did it, but how in the hell could he explain that to everyone else? Maybe he'd get a chance to see Daryl before the others did. He could break the news to him gently, prepare him for when Rick or T-Dog talked to him.

And speaking of Rick. How was Rick going to fit into all this?

His mind flashed to images of him and Rick with Daryl sandwiched between them. Him and Rick both buried deep inside of the hunter. Rick and Daryl's heads both resting on his chest, one of his hands carding through each head of hair.

But he knew that could never work. Could it? He sighed and rubbed the back of his head.

This day was a damn mess.

He climbed the ladder to the roof of the RV and sat down. With any luck, Daryl would come straggling out of the woods sometime during his shift. Thunder rumbled from somewhere nearby, and that made him more hopeful. Surely Daryl would want to be somewhere dry?

He watched Rick crawl into the tent behind Lori and laughed quietly to himself. In all of this, he hadn't even thought about where he would sleep tonight. Then he laughed again.

Yeah, Shane, like you're really gonna sleep with all this shit on your mind.

He settled further into the creaky lawn chair and waited for the rain to fall, eyes steadily moving back and forth between Rick's tent and the treeline. At least today was almost over.


End file.
